Part 8

He bounced up and down so hard on the web veranda that Anthony Ant shook like a bit of leaf himself. Oh, my, my! Of course, he had no business to play a trick upon the monstrous jumpy Spider, and it was mean, even if the old Spider was a bad fellow who killed innocent Ants and things he could catch. Yes, it served the Ant right to have this scare, he well knew, and the scare was turning out to be a real danger. The Spider shook the whole web so hard that the entire bridge of this weed was wiggling so fast that the Ant could not back away on it to the weed from which he had come, and thus get away. No, sir! He was nicely paid for his wicked little trick. Unless the old Spider stopped that shaking of the web, Anthony Ant would be thrown down upon it and eaten up. He clung on as hard as he could with all his feet and hands. Then all like a flash through his mind came the words of the Yellowbird, and in as loud a voice as his trembling would let him he cried down at the monstrous Spider, “Yellowbird! Yellowbird! Yellowbird!”

Well, sir, you should have seen the sudden change in that Spider’s looks! He had been black and fierce looking, and now he was almost gray, he was so pale. Besides, he was no longer stiff and fierce, but limp and scared, and, as well as the limpness would let him, he lost no time in getting back into that farthest-away corner of that cave house at the back of the web veranda.

It did not take Anthony Ant long to climb back along that bridge, and off by another little out-of-the-way path until he could safely pass the spot where the old monstrous jumpy Spider lived. He said to himself he never would play a wicked trick again on anything.

It was high noon when he stopped to eat some of the Clover Lodge refreshments. How good they tasted! As he ate, he thought of that good, nice old fubbly gentleman Bumblebee, and how the trick the Bumblebee had played was a kind one. That was the only trick to play--one that was good and kind--not a wicked one like that he himself had just played on the old Spider. Anthony had taken off his hat to cool his head while he ate, and he saw the mottoes the good, friendly Grasshopper had pasted in for him. The longer motto he read aloud:

“DON’T GET ANGRY AT NOTHING AT ALL, AND DON’T GET ANGRY AT ANYTHING!”

Well, he had not been angry today, but he had made the Spider get angry. That was almost as bad as though he himself had been angry. His mother had told him many a time that even if you did not take part in a sin, but made someone else do the sin, it was as bad as though you did it yourself, and you were no better than the one who sinned.

“I guess I was pretty terrible,” said Anthony Ant with a thoughtful sigh.

All at once he thought of something. He would be braver than he ever had been in his life. He would go back softly to that bridge and ask the Spider’s pardon. And this is the way Anthony Ant did it:

He put on his hat, took all his things, and traveled all that long way back, though it made it nearly half a day more before he would be home. Climbing carefully and quietly to the bridge, he stole slowly out over the old monstrous jumpy Spider’s web veranda and dropped a small Fly he had caught on the way on purpose for a peace offering.

Out came the monstrous jumpy Spider in an instant and grabbed the Fly in a hurry.

“O Mr. Spider!” called Anthony Ant. “I am the bad Ant that teased you this morning by fooling you with the piece of leaf. I am very sorry. I’ll never do it again, and I caught the Fly for you just now to let you know I really mean it when I say I am sorry. Will you please forgive me this time?”

My, but the Spider was surprised! He nearly dropped the Fly, and would have dropped it, only that he was so hungry he already had bitten into it, and stopped with the bite in his mouth. But never had any one asked him for forgiveness before, and the more he thought about it, the more surprised he was.

By and by, in his surprise, he let the Fly fall right out of his mouth to the floor of his web veranda, and he said slowly, “Well, that beats me! I never heard the like! To think you would be so kind to me when I was so angry at you I could have eaten you, and should have if I had gotten hold of you! I know I’m a gruff old fellow, and I’m sorry too, and it was mighty good of you to bring me the Fly. I thank you. If there was anything to forgive you for, I do from the bottom of my heart!”

Anthony Ant thanked him, and with a light heart said good-by. He ran back the way he had come, to make up for lost time. The journey seemed only half as long to the spot where he had eaten his luncheon. Though it was nearly time to think of supper, he felt well repaid by the good feeling in his heart for all that long journey back to make his peace with the Spider.

As for Mr. Spider as he sat in his doorway after his feast given him by the Ant, he thought and thought more than ever he had thought in his life. The words he thought were about the same as those in the Ant’s hat:

“DON’T GET ANGRY AT NOTHING AT ALL, AND DON’T GET ANGRY AT ANYTHING!”

THE ANT VENTURE OF THE CAT-TAIL

The next day Anthony Ant came to a bit of marsh. He had not passed this bit of marsh on his way out from home for the reason that he was not following his exact footsteps back. His many little side trips and Ant Ventures where things made it not so easy to get along made him take a different path back. But by traveling always toward the left he knew he would come out in time to the brook, which was a sort of landmark--I should say, _water_mark, to make it exactly true.

This marsh was a most interesting place. He crawled up a tall cat-tail to see if he could catch a glimpse of the brook, for he knew the brook had many marshy spots near its banks on either side from place to place along its course. This might be one of the brook’s marshes.

At the top of the cat-tail he found he was not yet able to see far ahead. There were other cat-tails taller than the one he tried, and he had made a mistake in guessing he could see far from this one. As he was thinking about the matter, a beautiful Dragon Fly with gauzy wings came sailing across the cat-tails and lighted upon the one nearest him--within speaking distance. He was not a bit afraid of the Dragon Fly. Dragon Flies may catch Mosquitoes and Gnats and such things, but Anthony Ant knew the Dragon Fly did not eat Ants.

“Good morning, Mr. Dragon Fly,” said Anthony Ant politely.

“The same to you,” replied the Dragon Fly in a friendly voice.

“You are so wise,” said Anthony, “and see so much of the world, that I should like to ask you if this is a marsh belonging to the brook or just a marshy spot in the field and not near a brook at all. Which is it?”

[Illustration: _“Good morning, Mr. Dragon Fly,” said Anthony Ant politely_]

“Both!” answered the Dragon Fly with a little grin.

“How could it be both?” asked Anthony Ant.

“I’ll tell you,” said the Dragon Fly. “It really is a little spot by itself, not connected at all with the brook, because there is a good stretch of land between this marsh and the brook. But it is also a sort of a belonging of the brook, because, when there are rains and rains and rains in the spring, sometimes the brook flows right over this way, and this marsh spreads over toward the brook, and it is almost like one big marsh, or one big brook, whichever you would rather call it.”

“I see,” said the Ant. “Can you see the brook from the cat-tail where you are sitting?”

“No,” said the Dragon Fly, “but I have seen it, and this very day too. I just came from that way. It doesn’t take an airplane like me long to get as far as the brook, you see. But it would take any one as little as you without wings a good long time, I should think. I should guess you had part of another day’s journey ahead of you if you started right off. Are you in a tearing hurry to get there?”

“Well, the sooner I do, the sooner I shall get back to Ant-Hill Manor,” said the Ant, “and I cannot get there any too soon to suit me.” And he told the Dragon Fly all about his coming away from home and everything.

“Well, well!” said the Dragon Fly. “I don’t blame you for wanting to get back. Now that is a funny thing. It never would do at all for me to go back to the place where I was born. I could not possibly live there.”

“Why not?” asked the Ant.

“Because,” was the Dragon Fly’s answer, “I was born down in the marsh where I was first a water creature living under the water, and crawling about sort of buglike and sort of wormlike, I suppose, till I was old enough to crawl up a weed, and sit and dream by the hour. Then I suddenly found I was the owner of these wings which I did not have when I was living in the water. So I crawled right up into the air, and my wings dried to this lovely gauze. The sun put into them all the colors of the rainbow. Here I have lived ever since, around these cat-tails where I can sail up and off for ever and ever so far to see the sights, and then come back here to sit and think about it all. But I never could live in the water again where I was born, you see, or I should drown.”

“That is so,” said the Ant. “And what is the best thing you have seen in your air trips?”

“The best thing I have seen in any sort of trip I ever have taken is the sun,” replied the Dragon Fly. “There is nothing that can match it--not even the moon on the loveliest night when the Whippoorwill calls, and the Owl cries, and the Bat frisks, and the Fireflies dance with their lanterns, and the whole marsh is more like a Japanese picture than like anything that possibly could be just plain marsh. Yes, sir, the sun is the best thing in the world. I have often tried to fly to it to thank it for my rainbow colors it gave me after my stupid sort of life in the water.”

“It is lovely,” remarked the Ant thoughtfully, “but don’t you like the dew too? It was lovely early this morning, and so refreshing to bathe in. Then I thought nothing could be so lovely in the world as dew.”

“Oh, yes,” said the Dragon Fly. “Dew is all right in its way, but give me the sun every time. The sun drinks up the dew after awhile, anyway.”

“So it does,” said the Ant. “I have noticed that.”

“By the way,” the Dragon Fly went on, “between the marsh and the brook you want to look out for the sundew when you sit down to rest anywhere.”

“Oh, but the sun won’t hurt me,” said Anthony Ant. “It never has, and I’ve traveled on the hottest days. As for the dew, why, it couldn’t possibly hurt me. Haven’t I bathed in it right along?”

“Oh, I see you don’t know what I mean, but you’ll find out if you happen to meet the sundew. You may not meet it, anyway, and if you should, it won’t hurt you much. I know you won’t linger with it too long, and you are strong.”

“What is it like?” asked the Ant.

The Dragon Fly chuckled.

“I’m not going to tell you,” was his answer. “Just for fun, I’m going to let you find out for yourself. Don’t be alarmed, though. I’d surely tell you if it was too dangerous for you. It is for smaller things than you. I’ll risk you. Anyway, you may not even see a glimpse of it. Lots of people spend too much time thinking about unpleasant things that after all never happen to them, so don’t waste a second’s thought on it. Good luck to you!” And away he sailed to take a nearer look at the sun.

THE ANT VENTURE OF THE DRAGON FLY’S TRICK

Thoughtfully Anthony Ant crawled down the cat-tail and went on toward the brook.

“Since I cannot reach the brook tonight, I may as well go carefully, camp out in some pleasant spot for the night, and rest my feet so that I shall be able to stand the way of the rough spots around the brook more easily tomorrow,” he said to himself.

Nothing exciting happened until he came to such a spot. It was a soggy, spongy, mossy spot in the field where the grass was not too tall, and where the ground was a bit more moist and sweet fern made the air like perfume.

Here Anthony Ant pulled off his shoes and stockings and hung up his hat where he could keep an eye on it. He never had forgotten the Field Mouse Ant Venture. Then he sat down on a comfortable-looking flat weed that was almost like a cushion. How cosy this seat was! It seemed to fit him exactly. As he bore his whole weight upon it the weed cushion began to fit more and more cosily about him, he thought.

The Ant was drowsy. He thought he would take a small nap of not more than seven or eight winks before he ate his supper. He started to get up just to turn himself over a little more to the side, when, lo and behold, sir, he found it easier to think about getting up than to get up! He was held down rather too firmly by tiny red hairs that were folding all about him from the weed cushion. That did not suit him, you’d better believe, so he roused himself in a hurry and began to pull himself away. He found that he was getting covered with something sticky that helped keep him back in the clutches of the thing he had sat down upon.

At last, by twisting and turning and kicking and pulling, he freed himself and looked back to see the queer sort of plant that had tried to catch him. There he saw a tiny Fly already dead from having been folded in by those fine red hairs of another of the cushion leaves of this strange plant.

“Ha, ha, ha, ha!” chuckled a good-natured voice above him. “What do you think of sundew now?”

Anthony Ant looked up, and there sat the Dragon Fly peering down at him through great far-seeing, horn-rimmed glasses he wore on his air trips.

“I was sailing by and thought I’d see if by any chance you had come as far as this on your homeward way,” said he, and lighted upon a sweet fern leaf near Anthony.

“Bring your things over here,” he continued. “Better sleep in the sweet fern bed tonight. It’s perfectly safe. I’ll help you brush up a bit first.”

Anthony Ant needed brushing. While the Dragon Fly helped him scrape off the sticky stuff and wash and comb himself, with the things Anthony had in the dressing case, the good-natured Dragon Fly told the Ant all about sundew and how it ate up little insects it held with the sticky stuff and the hairs that curled over things that lighted upon its leaves.

The Ant invited the Dragon Fly to stay to supper with him, for there was plenty for both in the lunch basket, and enough for Anthony’s breakfast besides. The Dragon Fly was tickled to pieces over the Clover Lodge honey. He never had tasted it before.

[Illustration: _The Ant invited the Dragon Fly to stay to supper with him_]

After supper what do you think they did? Why, they just sat and talked about this thing, that thing, and the other thing, until it was later than Dragon Flies and Ants stayed up usually. The Dragon Fly told Anthony Ant all the best of the marsh stories he could think of that ended pleasantly. Anyway, so far as the Dragon Fly knew, he could not tell a story that ended unpleasantly. Such stories he never remembered, as they never cheered any one up and they left bad tastes in the mouth, he said. But he _did_ tell the Ant about Will-o’-the-wisps; and about the pale blue, wild iris that blossoms in the spring; and about Red-winged Blackbirds that bring new stories from the South every year; and about a Marsh Hen; and about the little Wild Duck that knew something worth while; and about Frogs and what they meant by the different noises they called across the marsh on lonely nights; and about the murmuring of the waters around the rushes; and about the songs in poems the rushes whispered; and about the Wind that carried the poems to places where there were no poems. Anthony Ant thought it all a beautiful dream.

Then the Dragon Fly said “Good night” and “Good luck” once more and sailed off to bed in the marsh, and Anthony Ant tucked himself up in the sweet fern. First, however, for fear there might be something he had not yet seen that might hurt him, he put his pass out in plain sight. He even took care to guard against any jumpy Spider that might be around there by calling out in his loudest voice, three times, like this: “Yellowbird! Yellowbird! Yellowbird!”

THE ANT VENTURE OF A HAPPY MEETING

Oh, but the next morning was a morning worth looking at twice! Anthony Ant looked at it twice too. All the time he was scrubbing up he sang the little tune he liked best as played by the phonograph at home, and all the time he ate his breakfast he thought about the tune when he could not sing it. He was not long in getting on his way, either. He was homesick for a look at the brook. Who knows how much more homesick for the home far over on the other side!

The Dragon Fly, you remember, told Anthony Ant it might not take more than a part of the day for an Ant like Anthony to reach it. But, though the Ant started early and traveled fast, he had to make a number of long side trips to get out of the way of things that cluttered up his path and to keep out of the way of several jumpy Spiders. Besides, there were several things that chased him out of his path a number of times and nearly caught him. So not until late in the afternoon did the traveler come to the brook.

As Anthony Ant drew nearer and nearer the brook, he thought something was calling him down toward the right. It was something that did not have a voice, and yet it was something that called him so plainly that he had to go to see what it was. And what _do_ you think the something was? Why, nothing more nor less than a wireless message! Yes, sir, a wireless message! It told him to come down to the right, and then straight ahead.

He did this, and as he went on he heard the brook. It was bubbling softly in the distance somewhere. Then, after a little more traveling, he saw a sight that made him really toss up his hat for joy. No wonder he had received a wireless message! Why, there was the famous rose bush of the Wild-Rose Tea House! Oh, my! The wireless message must have been sent by the small Spider, Size Two, or by the Ladybug herself!

He lost no more time standing there tossing up his hat, but clapped it upon his head as fast as he could and began to climb the rose bush.

He was up at last. Ah, yes! And there sat the Ladybug and the small Spider, Size Two, smiling for all they were worth. They had known how to make him find the proper place for a supper that night! They had studied broadcasting carefully, you see.

If it had not been an impolite thing to do, they would have danced around and around to show how happy they were at meeting again. But in a tea house so famous as the Wild-Rose Tea House you cannot get up and jump around without making people wonder where your manners are, you know. So they merely shook hands with a good, hard grip of all the hands they three had, and told him his place was all set at their table, and his supper all ordered, and they had not had theirs yet but were waiting for him. So it was not many seconds before one of the best suppers ever served at that famous tea house was placed before one of the happiest parties of three that ever took place there.

“Well, well, well!” cried the small Spider, Size Two. “Your Ant Ventures by land and sea, as they say in stories, would fill a book! You ought to write a book about it all when you get home.”

“Yes, indeed, you surely ought to!” said the Ladybug.

Anthony Ant laughed.

“I know a place I’d never go to try to sell the book,” said he, “and that is Mrs. Angleworm’s house. She has no use for books, I could see that plainly!”

Anthony took out the little jar of Clover Lodge honey to add to the treat. The keeper of this fine tea house of the Wild-Rose came to taste it too. He said he thought it paid to help other tea houses along, and he would order some right off, and advertise it as being used at the Wild-Rose Tea House. It would help Clover Lodge along to have so fine an advertisement, he knew.